


Bigger than A Body and Sweeter than Gold

by winnow



Series: Bigger Than a Body [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Cannibalism, Eventual Sterek, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, Future Fic, Hand Jobs, M/M, Miscommunication, Multi, Mythology References, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Peter is mostly gross, Rape Aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 00:59:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2672978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winnow/pseuds/winnow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles turns toward them, “dudes, it’s okay. This is the g…” but Stiles doesn’t finish because their faces.</p>
<p>The look on their faces. </p>
<p>It’s as if a bright light was shining on them. Their eyes were so wide and their pupils turned to pinpoints in their heads. Scott’s tongue lolled unceremoniously out of his mouth and Isaac actually started to drool. The room was suddenly stiflingly hot and there was a high pitch noise coming from somewhere. Stiles tried to turn to look at Alex but he put a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and held him in place. </p>
<p>“You did not tell me your friends were werewolves as well,” he said, and he did not sound at all pleased.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Common Man is a Common Cold

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first fic. Even though it takes place five years in the future, I started it writing it between 3a and 3b so there's still some Isaac and Cora but it's updated enough that there's no Allison. Also no Malia because I like her on the show but I don't like her in fic. I dunno what that's about.
> 
> I'm planning on posting this a chapter at a time, maybe 2 chaps a week so as not to catch up to myself and then stress into state of Not Writing, or worse *Writing Badly*. I see major tag updates in the near future and probably a ratings change in later chapters but for right now, there's just one sexy times scene in chapter 4 and it's wee fluffy. I realize that there is a lot of cursing. In my brain, Stiles has a potty mouth. I'm sorry.
> 
> Comments, suggestions, random huggles and loving are all encouraged and appreciated. Please let me know if I missed something in the tags. This is unbeta'd so plot holes and grammar fails are all mine. Fic title and chap titles are excerpts from Nico Vega's "Million Years". 
> 
> Thanks for reading :-)

“Goddamnit,” Stiles huffs. He shouldn’t really waste breath to curse considering the amount of running he’s going to have to do to put distance between himself and these crazy werewolves from New York. 

“Fucking Derek,” he thinks as he rounds a giant white oak into a cluster of …apple trees? Stiles slows a bit to consider this. He’s been through these woods at least a hundred times in the last 5 years and never once has he seen an apple tree. 

“…the hell?” he says and picks up the pace again. Those wolves can’t be far behind and he’s pretty sure he’s leaving a hot trail of Stilinski stink in his wake. Finding the ravine and running in the water would be ideal at this point and with a clutch of fruit trees around him, it can’t be too far –

Stiles makes an undignified noise as he faceplants into the leaves and dirt, the tree root he tripped on jutting up mockingly behind him. An angry growl rips though the night air and motivates him to move. He scrambles up and presses his back to the nearest apple tree. The fall knocked the wind out of him and running isn’t an option just yet unless unconsciousness is his ultimate goal here. 

He rubs his dirty palms on his thighs, wheezes, “Fuuuck. Fuck fuck,” and straightens up, determined to give himself three good deep breaths before commencing running for his life again. Above his head and behind him, a claw-like hand slowly becomes visible. On his third breath, the hand grasps a handful of hoodie and overshirt and Stiles is quickly hauled up the tree several feet. A flailing of limbs ensues and another hand –a very warm hand- covers his mouth.

“Shhhh,” hot-claw-hand says, “I’m helping you.” They continue to ascend, Stiles’ legs and arms waggling wildly the entire time. About forty feet up, they perch – actually perch – on a thick branch. Something behind Stiles flutters loudly for a few seconds then stops. 

“If I remove my hand, will you scream?” amazing-tree-climbing-claw-hand asks quietly. Stiles, who is all eyes, sweat, and limp limbs at this point, shakes his head. 

“Will you make any kind of noise that will give away our location?” and Stiles, who is also not known for having even a modicum of self-preservation in the face of unknown danger, mumbles into the warm, possibly dangerous, certainly somewhat supernatural palm, “well, I am known for being kinda chatty.” Only it comes out, “mrr, ma maa mooo poo meee puuuuda tchhaay.” 

Behind him, claw-hand huffs a laugh and removes his hand. Stiles can hear him lean back against the trunk of the tree. 

Stiles clears his throat and stretches his sweaty face. “I –if I turn around, you’re not gonna like, talon the skin off my cheeks are you?” 

“Depends on if I like your cheeks …but probably not.” claw-hand says and Stiles can hear the smirk. Oh, so this guy has _sass_.

Stiles turns then, lips pursed with annoyance, and is face-to-face with – 

“You’re just a kid.”

“You are.”

“ _I_ am damn near 21 years old.”

Claw-hand-kid chuckles, “Ohhh. Twenty. One. ”

Stiles makes his patented face of exasperation, “how old are you then?”

“Not 21.” Claw-hand-kid says and there’s a lilt to the way he says it that makes Stiles think this kid does not mean he’s younger than that. 

Stiles really takes him in then. The boy looks like he might be all of 17, _maybe_. He’s got shiny black hair that seems to want to stick up but somehow still lies flat against his head. There’s a strange highlight to it, too; purple-red. A long thin mouth, like a slice in his face and cheekbones you could cut yourself on. He’s got a great tan, too, but there’s something off about it. Less like his skin is sunbaked and more like he is …emanating light. He’s fucking glowing. Wasn’t it just Stiles’ luck to be rescued (is that what this is?) by a beautiful supernatural boy, complete with sass mouth, unearthly glow, and mysterious vibe? But worse than that, were his eyes. Not only were they what can only be described as Fucking Silver, but they were old. Old eyes. The scary kind of old, like those fairies from two years ago, driven mad by living as humans for 900 years, only …more. 

“What are you?” Stiles asks, awed by the warm glow of the boy in front of him. Hotty McOldeyes makes to answer and then leans forward and quickly turns his head 230 degrees to the left. _Just his head_. The rest of him is still facing Stiles and perhaps that is not just bile in the back of his throat because **weird** and **gross**. 

“Shh, they’re coming.” He reaches out, grabs Stiles from his perch and again leans back against the tree trunk, arms around Stiles’ chest. The wolves, five of them, lope into view a few seconds later. 

“This way!” Ivan the alpha barks, and points due east.

“Wait …Scent gets strange here…” Marcus, the tall one, says to the others, “it goes this way but …” and he begins to look around. Stiles feels the boy behind him take a hesitant breath and hold it. 

“Marcus you’re wasting time. The scent goes east. The little fuck knows where Hale is and he’s getting away, let’s go.” Ivan and the others sprint away. Marcus moves, then turns and makes three gouges into the tree Stiles and the boy are hiding in, and finally runs to catch up to the others. 

They hold like that, chest to back, for a few minutes. Finally, the boy lets out the breath and releases Stiles. Stiles doesn’t move, though. He’s spent the last few minutes basking in the boy’s warmth and smell, and now he feels a little dazed. His entire body is relaxed and his head feels fuzzy and he’s a little bit horny, too now that he thinks about it. 

“You smell like microwaved sex.” He slurs at the boy and then giggles. He turns his head and sees one big silver-white eye cast down at him suspiciously. 

“What’s wrong with you?” the boy asks. 

“You, I think,” Stiles replies with a huge toothy grin. The boy makes a strange face that runs a gamut of emotions. The ones Stiles can place are surprise, angst, and another he likes to call “100% Nope”. The boy stops looking at Stiles and stares east. Stiles stares at his eyelashes for a good two minutes. 

“I’m Stilessszz.” He murmurs at the eyelashes. 

“You’re _high_.” The boy says without patience. 

“No nono, my name is Stiles.” 

The boy makes another face and looks down at Stiles, “That’s …interesting.” And Stiles smiles because he can tell the boy means it. 

“You can call me Alex,” he says quietly and stares east again. Stiles tries out the name, mouthing it several times then getting stuck on the end and just whispering “lex lex lex lex lex”. 

 

****

 

“It’s been like 5 hours since they came by here, pretty sure it’s safe for us to get down now.” 

“It’s been 13 minutes and no it is not,” the boy – Alex says. Stiles watches Alex’s pupils dilate to ridiculous size, “I’m not waiting for them to be far enough away. I’m waiting for them to leave. And they haven’t left yet.”

“Oh,” Stiles whispers. Guess he can’t blame a guy for being thorough but now that his head is clearing a bit, he really needs to be getting back to Scott and Isaac because by now Kira’s let them know that the wolves didn’t take the bait and follow her back to the warehouse where they are waiting to pounce on them but instead smelled Derek on Stiles and went fucking ballistic. It’s not at all surprising that Derek managed to piss off a very powerful pack in NYC even though he and Cora were only there for like 8 seconds. But for them to follow him back here to get, what? Revenge? Vindication? Who even knows. Derek’s not been that forthcoming with the story so far – surprise, surprise – and Cora bailed on him somewhere in Arizona, so no one can ask her. 

“Not – not that I don’t appreciate the um, lift but, why, exactly, are you helping me?” Stiles asks the question carefully. He still feels dopey and strangely aroused but he needs to get back to his friends and in order to do that, he’s got to get this guy to help him _down_. 

Alex continues to stare east. “I’m not fond of werewolves. They were chasing you and you’re mostly human, seems a bit unfair. So.”

Stiles quirks an eyebrow, “Well you’ve renewed my faith in random acts of kind—wait a minute, _mostly_ human?” 

Alex smirks, “they’re gone now. We can get down.” He leans forward and turns Stiles toward him. “Hang on to me.” 

Stiles is hit with a noseful of warmth and unnff. His other question dies on his lips, replaced by, “Whhhy do you smell like that?” He makes whiny noises into Alex’s shoulder. 

“Tighter,” Alex says ignoring him. Stiles wraps his arms around Alex’s shoulders until his hands meet. He folds them together and squeezes. He shakes his head a couple of times to clear it of the scent-fueled drunkenness he’s feeling. _Friends_ , he thinks, _get back to my friends. Worry about sex pollen later_.

Alex snakes his arms around Stiles’ waist. He drops his head near Stiles’ ear and says, “Close your eyes.”

Stiles tries to will away the hard-on that’s forming in his pants, “I think I’m fine like this, thanks.”

“It will hurt if you don’t,” Alex says softly into his ear. Stiles exhales a shaky breath and clenches his eyes shut. There’s a rush of wind and he is pretty sure they are falling to their deaths at about 200 miles per hour. And then they’re safely on the ground.

Stiles cracks open an eye, “did we just fucking teleport oh my god.” Alex lets go of him and takes a few steps back. 

“You should be able to get to your vehicle without injury now. And it might be a good idea to reassess your life choices regarding werewolves. You reek of them and yet, they don’t much like you. That seems …strangely unhealthy.” Alex turns and starts to walk away. 

“Wait!” Stiles blurts out. “Do you …do you need a ride somewhere? I could take you. As a thank you. You know. For treeing me to safety.” He’s not sure why he’s saying this now. _This was not the plan, Stilinski. The plan was to get back to the warehouse. The plan was to finish helping your friends. Get your head out of your pants._

Alex smiles, “I get around okay. And I get the feeling you have somewhere else to be just now.”

“I do, but…” Stiles doesn’t know how to finish the sentence. He DOES need to get his ass in gear and get back to the warehouse because fuck what if that’s where Ivan and his lackeys made off to or shit what if they’ve got Kira now. Alex tips his head to the side and blinks. He walks up to Stiles and quickly runs a hand through Stiles’ ruffled hair. He brings his fingers up to show Stiles the three loose strands caught between his first and middle fingers. 

“I’ll find you.” He says and levels a look at Stiles, who nods, turns, and sprints in the direction of the jeep.


	2. Low Baby Low, So Own Your Shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks all for the positive feedback. I seriously flopped around in my bed like a fish squealing at the kudos and comments. 
> 
> Imma post two chapters today because one of them is teeny and because of the holiday and because I'm realizing that I'm sort of an impatient posting glut.

Stiles pulls up to the warehouse with a screech of tires just as Derek comes barreling out.

“Stiles, where the hell have you been?”

“Where are Scott and Isaac,” Stiles asks, blatantly sidestepping Derek’s question.

“In the warehouse. Where –“

“And Kira?”

Derek sighs, “With her mother and Lydia. _Looking for you_.”

“Oh thank god. I was …in …a tree.”

Derek blinks slowly, “What.”

“There was an encounter. Look, it doesn’t matter. Ivan has it bad for you, dude. Like, real bad. What the hell did you do to him?”

Derek makes bitch face and sighs again. “It wasn’t me,” he says and turns back toward the warehouse.

“What does that even mean? He smelled you on me and lost his damn mind! You’re telling me he’s got some misplaced anger issues? Come on, Derek.” Stiles follows Derek into the warehouse where Scott comes running up to him.

“Dude. Where were you? Kira said –“

“I know, I know. It’s fine. Text her that I’m here and I’m okay.” Scott gives Stiles the You’re Telling Me Everything Later face and pulls out his phone. Stiles beelines for Derek.

“What. Did. You. Do.”

“It wasn’t me!” Derek yells, throwing his hands in the air for emphasis. “He just thinks it was.”

Stiles pinches the bridge of his nose. See, this is why he went to college out of state. This shit right here.

“Ok, Derek, ok. What didn’t you do? Or even better, give me a straight answer about what it is he thinks you did that you didn’t do. Can you do that?” Derek huffs and crosses his arms. Isaac comes into view behind him, clearly interested in what is hopefully one of the few succinct answers ever uttered out of Derek Hale’s bunny-toothed mouth.

“It was Cora,” he mumbles.

“Ok, what did she do?” Stiles’ patience is paper thin at this point. Hands on his hips, attitude is wafting off him in waves. “Come on, Derek, just spit it out. Jesus.”

“sheranoffwithhisdaughter.”

Isaac’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline, “Wait,” he says, “wait. Ok, so _Cora_ kidnapped her or…”

“No,” Derek says with a glare, “they ran off together. To _be_ together. I tailed them to Arizona but lost them there.”

“And he thinks you did something untoward with his baby girl, is that it Derek?” Derek drops his eyes and nods. Stiles relaxes his stance. “So why not just tell him the truth?”

“I can’t.”

Stiles flails, “why the hell not?”

“He won’t believe me.”

“Dude, werewolves are fucking lie detectors! How is that even a thing?”

“He _won’t_ believe me,” Derek says with more force.

“How do you know?” Isaac asks. He’s got his head cocked to the side like he used to do in high school when he was about threaten someone with bodily harm. Stiles thinks that’s a bit of an overreaction.

“How do you know, Derek?” Isaac shouts, visibly angry. What the hell…

Derek says nothing. Isaac shakes his head in disgust. “Because you did, didn’t you. You did do something with her and the only reason you chased them was because your sister made off with your girl. Again.”

Stiles realizes that his mouth is hanging open and snaps it shut. “Whoa. Whoa whoa whoa. Again? My spider-sense tells me this is a good story. Spill.”

Derek glares at Isaac and walks out of the warehouse. Scott sidles up to Stiles, “not really, dude. Derek has the worst taste in women, you know that. He just went from secret psychos to secret lesbians, is all. Last time was just a little less stressful.” Scott’s grin is enough to break Stiles’ resolve and he bursts out laughing.

“Wait, haha, this isn’t, heh, actually funny _I almost died_ ,” he says sobering considerably. “Explain to me why we can’t tell Ivan what happened. That seems a viable option to me still. So he won’t believe Derek because Derek did the do with his daughter, I get that. Won’t he believe one of you?”

“Probably not,” Scott says with a grimace, “we smell more like Derek than you do and his reaction is likely to be just as murderous.”

“Nobody smells more like Derek than me," Stiles grouses to himself. "So what do we do then? Because Derek’s still not safe and neither am I, now. I don’t really like the idea of dying because that dude knows my stink.”

“We’ll protect you,” Isaac says, moving in close, “we’ll protect you until we figure something out.”

Stiles’ closed eyes, rabbiting heart, and clenched jaw say it all but he drops the word anyway, “ _Awesome_.”


	3. Let It Burn, Let It Burn

Stiles paces the length of his old bedroom. _This unbelievable shit. I did not come back to Beacon Hills to have my damn life threatened again. I left it to get away from that. I left it to be safe. So Dad and Melissa could be safe. This is supposed to be a happy time. I’m here to celebrate their union not get chased by Derek fucking Hale’s crazy hook up parental unit._

“Fucking Derek!” he yells. He throws a book at the wall and turns to flop down in his desk chair. It’s about ten seconds before he realizes he didn’t hear the book actually hit the wall. Stiles turns only to find Alex perched on the window sill with the book in his hand.

“I don’t think I deserved that.”

“Dude!” Stiles jumps to his feet and stops himself from running over to …what exactly _was_ he going to do? Instead, he stands awkwardly in the middle of the room. “Um. Heh. You found me.” 

“I did,” Alex says as he leans forward at an impossible angle to place the book on the floor, “I wanted to make sure you weren’t dead.” 

Stiles blinks. “Uh. No. Still kicking. Throwing books, climbing trees. Yeah.”

The breeze outside is wafting Alex's scent around Stiles' head. Alex lifts one leg and slowly places it inside the room. He does the same with the other. Somehow he manages to stay on the sill while he does this. Stiles can’t seem to not stare. Stiles thinks Alex’s legs are stupidly long. Also, Alex is not wearing any shoes and his feet are unnervingly pretty. Alex strolls from the window to Stiles, who is obviously brainfarting at the moment brb. 

“You look stressed, Stiles,” Alex says facetiously, “someone trying to kill you?” And then he smiles. Stiles stares at Alex’s perfect teeth and giggles like a maniac.

Alex sags, “Damn. You’re high again.” 

Stiles covers his mouth but continues to giggle like a small child. “My friends are downstairs,” he says in what is supposed to be a whisper but is more like a quiet rasping holler and points toward the floor. 

“Are they.”

“Mhm,” more giggling, “they don’t know about you.”

“Why is that.”

“Because you smell like carnal knowledge.” Stiles almost cackles himself onto the floor.

“Do I.”

“I like how you ask questions that don’t sound like questions. Goddamn you’re tall. Also, your feet.” Stiles bites his lips to keep from laughing.

Alex drops his eyes toward his feet then looks back up at Stiles. To Stiles, his blinks are slow and deliberate. He can feel the breeze of Alex’s eyelashes on his face, the heat of him on his chest, the smell of him in his groin. A slow moan rolls out of his mouth. 

“This won’t do,” Alex says and leans in close. Stiles’ brain seems to short circuit at the new proximity and then he’s choking. 

“What the actual fuck!” Stiles sputters and wipes water from his face, “are you trying to kill me?” 

“Hardly,” Alex says and then there’s a thundering on the stairs as Scott and Isaac make their way to Stiles’ room. Alex sets the glass of water down on the desk while Stiles grabs a shirt to dry his face. 

“Where did you even get that?” he asks just as Isaac throws open the door and Scott barrel rolls into the room, both in full wolf.

Stiles turns toward them, “dudes, it’s okay. This is the g…” but Stiles doesn’t finish because their faces.

The look on their faces. 

It’s as if a bright light was shining on them. Their eyes were so wide and their pupils turned to pinpoints in their heads. Scott’s tongue lolled unceremoniously out of his mouth and Isaac actually started to drool. The room was suddenly stiflingly hot and there was a high pitch noise coming from somewhere. Stiles tried to turn to look at Alex but he put a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and held him in place. 

“You did not tell me your _friends_ were werewolves as well,” he said, and he did not sound at all pleased. 

Scott lunged forward and the high pitch noise came again, this time louder. Scott collapsed to the floor and covered his ears. Isaac remained in the doorway like a drunk zombie, slobber running down his chin and soaking his shirt. Stiles tried to turn toward Alex again but his hand stayed firm. 

“What are you doing to them?” Stiles yelled and bent to reach Scott but Alex’s grip tightened and, using Stiles as a shield, maneuvered them over toward the window. 

“Don’t go back to the tree,” Alex said into his ear and then he was gone. The room was still incredibly hot but the light and the sound vanished with him. Scott looked up from the floor, human-faced for the most part. Isaac slumped in the frame of the door. Stiles reached down and helped Scott up. 

_“What the hell was that?”_

Stiles looked at the window and registered the singe marks on the sill. “That was Alex.”

 

****

 

“I don’t know what you’re seeing but there was nothing even remotely human about whatever was in the room with us,” Isaac said between gulps of water, “I saw a giant shiny fire …thing.”

Scott nodded, “it wasn’t a man, Stiles. It must be some kind of glamour. Whatever it was, it was made of flames. Like a star or something. And it smelled sooo…” Scott closed his eyes and Isaac chimed in.

“Yes! It smelled like everything delicious, like, like…”

“Like microwaved sex,” Stiles offered and slumped onto his bed.

“Yes!!” both boys answered. 

“And it was screaming,” added Scott, “it _screamed_ at me and it was worst thing I’ve ever heard.” Scott downs the last of his third glass of water and walks to the bathroom for another. Isaac quickly finishes his glass and hands it over to Scott for a refill. 

“I didn’t hear screaming,” Stiles said, “but I heard a sound. Like a really high bell. It wasn’t actually unpleasant, just, I don’t know. Loud.”

Isaac looks up at him through his eyelashes, “it was screaming, Stiles.” 

“You guys seriously didn’t hear him talking? You didn’t hear him climb on the roof or come in the room or throw water in my face?” 

“He threw water in your face?” asked Isaac. 

“Well, he kind of,” Stiles hesitated to tell them that, so far, being around Alex was like smoking the stickiest of the icky. It was like bong hits from that really, really good shit that you can only get like twice a year on campus, if you’re lucky, but he was pretty sure that neither of them would understand. Disadvantages to being a werewolf #6: can’t get high.

“He kind of what,” prompted Scott, looking a bit more dangerous than necessary. 

“It’s just that I can smell that, too. And while it doesn’t make me fucking drool,” Stiles threw a look in Isaac’s direction, “it does affect me. I think he was trying to snap me out of it.”

Isaac moved to the window and inspected the singe marks, “Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know, Isaac, because he’s a standup guy? None of this makes any sense.” 

“He’s after something,” Scott says darkly. “What if he’s working for Ivan?”

“He saved me from Ivan.”

“Maybe because he’s working for him,” Isaac chimes in, “like a hitman.”

“If he wanted to kill me he could have done it like 89 times before you guys even got up here. Or you know, just let Ivan do it.”

“Yeah,” Scotts eyes go glassy, “I bet he’s working for him.”

“He said he wasn’t fond of werewolves.”

“Which would be the perfect thing to say if you didn’t want someone to know you were working for one,” Scott murmurs, almost to himself. 

“Dude, you’re reaching. It doesn’t make sense to save me from the guy he’s going to eventually give me to. Why –“

“Derek!” Isaac yells, pointing at Scott, “he’s using Stiles to get to Derek.” 

Scott’s eyes go wide, “Yeeeeah.” 

“No.”

Scott starts pacing the room, rubbing his chin, “he gets close to you, you lead him to Derek, and he tells Ivan where Derek is.”

“IVAN ALREADY KNOWS WHERE DEREK IS!” 

“It’s perfect,” Isaac says with a smug look on his face. 

“There are plot holes the size of this planet in what you’ve just said.”

“Stiles, you’ve got to stay away from him.” Scott grabs Stiles’ arm. Stiles cuts his eyes at both of them, shakes off Scott and walks toward the door. 

“Christ. I don’t care what you think you saw. I really fucking don’t. Maybe you scared him, parkouring in here all wolfed out like that. And yeah, maybe I don’t know what he actually is. But you know what? I think if I go ask him, he will tell me. And while you guys are dreaming up ways for him to get me offed, don’t forget the fact that he saved my life. He had no reason to do that and there was no way Ivan or anyone else would have known where I was going to be at that moment.” Stiles grabs his jacket off the back of the door.

“Maybe,” he begins and then loses what’s left of his composure, “maybe this is _why he doesn’t fucking like werewolves_.” Stiles leaves the room, slamming the door behind him.

Stiles slams the front door as well and is greeted by a grumpy looking Derek. He gives himself a moment to flail in exasperation and then stomps around him toward the jeep.

“Where are you going, Stiles.”

“What is it with people asking questions like they’re not questions? When did this become a thing hot dudes do?”

Derek shows only a second of confusion in his eyebrows and then the whole of his face slides back to grumpy. “You can’t leave, Stiles.”

“Fucking watch me.”

Stiles slides into the jeep and Derek grabs the steering wheel. Stiles tries futilely to pry Derek’s hand off. Then they stare at each other for a solid minute. After all these years, unspoken threats and jibes no longer needed to be said; everything is in the look. And Derek’s look is 500% “I will tear this bitch right the fuck off.” 

“You wouldn’t,” Stiles whispers.

“I would. To protect you.” 

“My _jeep_?!” 

“Yes.”

“Goddamn it, Derek.”

Derek takes his hand off the wheel and Stiles rests his head on it. 

“How is me going out there less safe than you being here?” he mumbles into the horn. Derek doesn’t answer. 

Back in the house, Scott’s waiting at the bottom of the stairs. He spreads his hands at Stiles. “I don’t know, dude. Maybe you’re right. Maybe we just spooked him. Isaac made a good point that he probably could have killed us all if he wanted to, big and fiery as he was, but he didn’t, he just wanted to leave. I guess that says something.” 

Stiles snorts and brushes past Scott on the way up the stairs. Half way up he stops but doesn’t turn around. 

“Look. I know you guys are trying to protect me. You’ve always tried to protect me. After a while, the fragile human shtick gets old. There’s a point, you know? And I’m not stupid. If Alex was evil,” he turns then and looks pointedly at Scott, “don’t you think I’d know it?” Stiles climbs the rest of the stairs and quietly closes the door to his room.

Scott’s shame is palpable. Isaac looks at the floor. Derek says, “Who’s Alex?”


	4. You've Never Known Something Quite Like the Back of My Thighs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a wee bit of sexy times in this chapter. I updated the tags for it. 
> 
> Again, thanks all for the encouragement. I hope you all had a great Thanksgiving and that you're still enjoying the read!

After Stiles puts on pajamas, he hears Isaac take position outside his window. He taps twice on the glass and Isaac taps twice back. 

Lying in bed, he thinks about the last few months. It was luck that had him taking mostly online courses this semester so it was easier to leave Portland to help his dad with wedding stuff. It was a beautiful ceremony and his Dad and Melissa had gotten a kick out of the t-shirts he and Scott wore to the reception that read ‘FINALLY!’ Stiles really hoped they were having a better time in Aruba than he was in California.

Being back in Beacon Hills was always a doubled-edged sword. Seeing his dad and hanging out with Scott and Lydia was always something he’d look forward to. The tension between him and Isaac, though? Not so much. It got bad sometimes. Stiles knows back in high school, Isaac and Scott became pretty close. Even closer now that he’s been over 600 miles away for three years. The problem isn’t that Stiles is jealous. The problem is that once in a fit of anger Stiles told Isaac that Isaac is _just_ Scott’s best friend but Stiles is Scott’s _brother_. The problem is that Isaac asked Scott if that was true. The problem is that Scott couldn’t bring himself to answer. And now that their parents are married, it’s more evident than ever. 

And then there’s Derek. Everyone in the pack knows there’s something between Stiles and Derek but no one ever talks about it. Not even Stiles and Derek. It just sits there being pink and elephanty, eating up space when they’re both in the room. There was a time, starting late in freshmen year that Stiles thought; maybe …maybe this could be something. Derek and Cora’s semi-nomadic lifestyle made it easy for them to come to Portland whenever to visit. Cora would inevitably run off somewhere and Stiles and Derek would just spend time together. They got to know each other pretty well. And they had a few moments where they were maybe invading each others personal spaces or putting their hands on each other and a few times, yeah, there was some kissing. And then Cora would come back and Derek would back off, they’d move on to the next city and that would be that until the next time.

But months later it hadn’t progressed so Stiles stopped holding his breath and started dating. It didn’t affect his relationship with Derek much. They were still antagonistic toward and inappropriate with each other and everyone (including some of Stiles’ significant others) knew it was from years of good old fashioned pining. 

Once though, end of sophomore year, it was more than just a handsy backrub, a secret kiss goodnight, or falling asleep wrapped around each other curled up on a couch. Stiles had just been through a pretty bad breakup and had spent the following two weeks filling the giant hole of hurt with every type of alcohol he could find. He barely passed his classes, quit hanging out with friends, didn’t go home for break, and had lost ten pounds from his already slight frame. When Derek and Cora showed up out of the blue, he was a liquored up mess. 

He tried to pass it off as just a night out partying too hard but Cora so eloquently pointed out, “Stiles, your fridge is full of vodka and Jack Daniels. You don’t have any food in here. Like, _nothing_.” 

“I …”

“When was the last time you ate?” Derek asked while his eyebrows descended his face in a horrible show of disapproval. 

“I…”

Cora poked at Stiles’ ribs, “You look like a rope with knots tied in it. This is ridiculous.” 

“I…”

“Fuck this, I’m going shopping. I hope you like meat. Derek, I’ll be back in like two hours. Do something productive and sobering with him until then.” Cora swept out of the room leaving Derek and Stiles standing there to stare at each other for several minutes. 

And then something strange happened. 

Stiles started to cry. 

It was a slow dissolution of will starting with his chin, which decided it should quiver and his lips, which decided they should turn down and his nose, which decided it should burn and his eyes, which decided they should water like a sieve. He found himself sobbing in Derek’s arms. Derek held him for a long time, rubbing his back and neck and just letting Stiles cry it out. 

When Stiles finally started to calm down, Derek still didn’t let him go. Instead he pressed his nose and mouth to the curve of Stiles’ neck and took one long inhalation after the other. Stiles closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the sensation. It was incredibly relaxing. His hand made its way into Derek’s hair and Derek rumbled approval when Stiles scratched his nails across his scalp.

“I’m tired, Derek. Let’s go lie down.” 

They made their way to the bed, still clutching each other. Derek maneuvered Stiles so his back was to Derek’s chest, making Derek the “big spoon” when they finally lay down. Derek resumed his scenting while rubbing his lips on the back of Stiles neck, up his hairline, across his shoulders. Stiles pressed himself as close to Derek as he could, soaking up the warmth of Derek’s body. Derek slipped a hand under Stiles’ shirt and caressed his stomach. 

“You’re too thin,” he murmured into Stiles’ hair. 

“I’m sorry.”

“I might need to come by more often. Make sure you’re eating.” Derek made a wide sweep of Stiles’ skin, grazing nipples with his hand. 

Stiles arched into the touch, “you could feed me the sticks and twigs you eat all the time.” He sighed as Derek’s hand moved to the waistband of his sweatpants. 

“I eat more than sticks and twigs,” Derek said, then smoothed his fingertips across Stiles’ pelvis from hipbone to hipbone. 

Stiles’ hand shot up to curl into Derek’s hair again, “yeah throw those protein shakes in there, too.” 

Derek didn’t reply with words. Instead he pressed his teeth into the back of Stiles’ neck and inched his hand downward to graze the downy hairs on Stiles’ lower belly. Stiles gasped and rolled his hips. 

“I bet you eat Slim Jims by the case,” he breathed as Derek’s hand continued downwards. 

"I heard Dwayne Johnson emulates your regimen," Stiles said through his teeth as Derek's hand grazed over his pubic hair.

“You probably have a GNC titanium membershahhh…” Derek licked a stripe up Stiles’ neck and stroked him slowly. 

“Mhmm,” Derek hummed into the back of Stiles’ ear, “...and I got Johnson his membership at a discount.” 

They both giggled and Derek’s touch became a little more purposeful. Stiles felt like he was about to pull Derek’s scalp off; his fingers were wound so tightly into his hair. And Derek kept pulling these little moans out of him at every up-stroke. It was only a few minutes before Stiles was a quivering, sweaty mass of heavy breathing and erratic hip movements. Derek wrapped his leg around Stiles’ and began to rub himself against Stiles’ backside. Stiles could feel Derek’s breath hitch against his neck and goddamn who knew _that_ would be so erotic. They found a rhythm and rocked together. Just as Stiles began his pre-climax litany of curse words, Derek froze.

“Oh god Derek no don’t stop I’m so close,” Stiles begged and tugged on Derek’s hair. 

Derek lifted his leg off Stiles, “This is the opposite of what I want, Derek!”

Derek pulled his hand out of Stiles’ sweats, “Cora is here.” 

Stiles grabbed Derek’s hand and said, “give me ten seconds I _swear to god_ …” just as Cora burst through the door yelling her brother’s name. 

Stiles mumbled slanderous Cora-related expletives all the way up the hall. Cora took one look at Stiles and Derek as they entered the kitchen and grimaced, “Oh that suuucks. I figured you guys would be long finished by now.”

Derek took two grocery bags from her, “why would you think that?”

“Oh you know, what with all those years of pent up tension I had money on your genitals getting within inches of each other and just exploding.” 

Stiles tried to smite her with a gimlet scowl. Cora was the devil. 

****

Stiles had to laugh in spite of himself. It’s still a good memory. Frustrating as hell, but good. Derek and Cora had left that evening after stuffing him full of Parmesan chicken and pouring out all the booze. And as soon as they were out the door he’d started a self-love marathon to make up for that lost orgasm. 

“What’s funny?” Alex asks from the desk chair. 

Stiles sits bolt upright in his bed and has something close to 14 mini heart attacks at the sound of Alex’s voice. “How. The hell.”

Alex shrugs off the question. “Tell me what you were laughing at.” 

“Tell me how you got in here!” Stiles whisper-yells. 

“Through the door.” Alex motions toward it nonchalantly. 

“No. No way. Scott’s probably curled up right in front of it like a cat.”

“Is he the alpha who jumped at me,” Alex raises an eyebrow, “Scott?” 

Stiles gapes, “what-what the f—Jesus Christ!” He throws off his covers and moves to get out of the bed. 

“Please don’t.” 

Something in the way Alex floats the words across the room stills Stiles. “Don’t …what? Get Scott? Get help? Do I need to be getting help, Alex? Should I be afraid?”

“No,” he says quietly, “not of me.”

“Then what don’t you want me to do?”

Alex sighs and a gives Stiles a small smile, “Don’t get out of the bed.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to have an actual conversation with you that doesn’t involve uncontrollable giggling and crotch sniffing.” 

Stiles snorts, “I wasn’t sniffing your crotch…”

“You wanted to,” Alex smirks. 

“No I didn- I was – _Shut up_.” Stiles mock pouts and sits back on the bed. 

Alex leans forward, the light seeping in from the street lamps spilling over his already glowing face. “Here’s me, putting all my cards out on the table, so to speak,” he says intently. “You are _interesting_. You are intelligent. You are brave. You are attractive. You are humorous. Your hair smells like tree nuts. Your body feels like electricity. You seem to say whatever comes into your mind. These are things I have not experienced in a very long time and I did not remember that I wanted them until you gave them to me. You should not be able to do some of the things you’re doing but I don’t …I don’t want it to stop. I don’t want you to stop. I want to know you. And even more strangely, I want you to know me.”

“Dude,” Stiles says, and shakes his head, “we’ve had two encounters, both of them hella weird and lasting all of 15 minutes.”

Alex nods and leans back out of the light, “A fact that is not lost on me, and yet…”

“But you almost fire-shrieked my friends to death.” 

“I protected myself,” Alex says, the tone of his voice much more assertive than before, “I told you that I’m not fond of werewolves, though this does explain on you, the heavy scent of them.” 

“Ok but ‘not fond’ does not equate to ‘if seen, will bake from the inside out with a Mariah Carey hellcry’.”

Alex raises an eyebrow, “it doesn’t?”

“No!” 

“Hm.”

Stiles gapes at him, “ _Could_ you have killed them?”

Alex tries and fails not to be smug, “I could have done a great many things. Instead I simply left.” 

“And that doesn’t really answer my question at all, does it.” Stiles chuckles to himself. “You remind me of Derek.”

“Mm.”

“That um,” Stiles stammers, feeling the tension, “that isn’t an insult.”

Alex gives a small smile again, “I disagree.”

Stiles sighs. He eyeballs the distance from the bed to the chair and deems it safe to scoot to the edge of the bed, “Look,” he says, “I appreciate the fact that you find me interesting because I’m fully aware that I’m made of rad, but if we’re going to get to know each other –and let me just set the record straight that hell yeah I want to do that – you have to get right with the fact that I hang with werewolves. Scott is my brother, like for real now, our parents are totally married. Isaac is his best friend. And Derek is …is an old friend. None of that is going to change. So, you can’t freeze dry my friends whenever they come in the room because you’re prejudice, which by the way is a total black mark against your coolness rating-“

“Prejudice,” Alex says. He stands up, and Stiles is suddenly reminded of just how tall Alex is, and takes off his shirt. Alex leans forward so the light will catch his chest. “Prejudice,” he says again and Stiles can feel the contempt wafting off of him and oozing all over that word. 

He could call them “scars” but Stiles thinks that is a criminal understatement. What Alex has on his arms and chest is more like …mangling. 

“Jesus…” Stiles breathes. He leans forward as far as he can, reaching up to touch them. Alex moves out of the light. He puts his shirt back on in one swift movement and sits again. 

“That is what it looks like when they try to eat you and you get away,” he says, “and when you are me, they are always trying to eat you.” 

Stiles bows his head, “I’m so sorry…”

“Mm, you couldn’t have known-”

“But I did.” Stiles looks up at him then, “I’ve seen what they can do. Not just to humans but to each other. And the aftermath of it. I know, acutely, why they’re hunted and hated by so many. I just stupidly hoped that this time it was by reputation and not experience.”

“If you know…” Alex begins and then hesitates.

“Why do I keep sticking around?”

“Yes.”

Stiles sighs. It’s a damn good question. It’s not like he can even say that the negative reputation of a werewolf is completely false, because the reality is: it really, really isn’t. They are violent, competitive, territorial, and every wolf he’s met besides Scott is knee-deep in ritualistic behaviors that usually impede them from their goals. Judging from his experiences with Peter’s manipulative bullshit to Derek’s horrendous decision making skills to Deucalion's plots to kill everyone, werewolves have done a bang up job showing some ugly true colors and fucking over everyone around them, including themselves. Even Stiles has to admit that he moved to Portland to get away from their never-ending slew of bloody drama. _But Scott_ , he thinks, _and Isaac. And even as bad as Derek still is, he’s a hundred times better than 3 or 4 years ago_. 

“I guess the honest answer is that I didn’t stick around so much as stick _by_. I live in Oregon and 89% of the reason for that is because I was sick of dealing with werewolf shit. If Scott hadn’t stayed here, I would have dragged my dad’s ass with me. But that’s just it; Scott. It’s cliché but, they aren’t _all_ like that. Yeah I’ve seen the carnage, but I’ve also seen the influence Scott’s had on Isaac and even Derek - and on other wolves in general. Scott was always in it to put a stop to it. He never wants to hurt anybody. So I guess if I’m gonna hang out with werewolves, might as well be one like him. I knew him a long time before he was turned. He was good then and he’s good now and bless his little wolfy heart for trying to spread that around.” Stiles gives Alex a level gaze, “He’s not just my friend and brother, he’s an exceptional alpha and I’m part of his pack. So, here’s _me_ , showing you my cards. They have werewolves on them. Still wanna play?” 

After a moment, Alex nods, “I will add ‘loyal’ to the list of things you are.”

Stiles smiles, “Cool. Also, one of my cards has a banshee on it but that’s neither here nor there.”


	5. I've Got Swords for Hands and Detective Eyes

Stiles isn’t much for conversation at breakfast the next morning. He’s thought of at least 200 more questions to ask Alex the next time he sees him and he still hasn’t come up with a way to broach the subject of _Alex_ in general to Scott and Isaac. After a lot of Stiles making frowny faces, Alex begrudgingly agreed to be “tolerant” of them but Stiles wondered if maybe he should have asked for details on just what "tolerant" meant to Alex. Instead he probed Alex about Scott and Isaac seeing him in all his fiery glory.

“Werewolves," Alex said with a curl of his lip, "see something in addition to myself. A distortion of some kind. I've never had the impetus to ask one to describe it given that at the time I'm likely killing it or trying not to be killed, so I don't know what it is they see or why but it makes them _rabid_." 

He stared into the corner of the room for a moment, obviously lost in memory before giving himself a little shake. 

"There is a way to mask it from them,” he said, “though it takes a great deal of energy. I’m doing it now. What I don't understand is why it seems to also affect you...”

“So you can control your shift but also who sees it?” Stiles asked.

“I don’t _shift_ ,” Alex said with the same hint of disdain, “I _am_.” 

Stiles rolled his eyes and Alex chuckled. “You think I’m being pretentious but that’s only because you haven’t seen it.” 

Stiles leaned forward, excitement glinting in his eyes, “If you can’t give me a name for what you are, show me then,” he said. 

Alex seemed to stare at something on the floor for a long moment. “It would hurt you,” he replied softly. 

“Burn me up?” Stiles posed, “Reduce me to ash? Blow out my ear drums? Because holy hell, the noise I heard.”

“It would hurt you …mentally,” Alex said and doesn’t explain further.

Stiles was having none of that. “What does that cryptic shit mean? And how do you know for sure? You said I’m doing things I shouldn’t be able to do, maybe I can do that, too.”

“No,” Alex whispered. “No.”

 

“Dude,” Scott says and puts a hand on Stiles’ wrist, snapping him out of his reverie, “you’ve raised and lowered that empty spoon 16 times. Put something on it or put it away, man.” Scott chuckles at Stiles’ dumbstruck face and stands to take his plate to the sink, “You were totally a million miles away.” 

“Got a lot on my mind,” Stiles mumbles and rests the spoon in the bowl. 

He clears his throat hoping it will somehow help clear his head, “Anything new on Ivan n’them?” 

Scott snorts and shakes his head, “No, and that really bothers me considering how close they have to know they are to their target. Derek’s not exactly hard to find. Ivan knows he’s with us. So why haven’t they attacked?”

Stiles opens his mouth to respond just as Scott’s phone rings. 

“Hello …Mr. Argent? …” Scott raises a finger at Stiles and walks into the other room.

Stiles makes surprised eyebrows at the identity of the caller and shakes his head. He still finds it endearing that, after all this time, Scott calls Chris that, _Mr. Argent_. He believes that level of respect to be a tiny nod to Allison, gone but definitely not forgotten. 

In the other room Stiles can hear Scott getting excited over whatever Chris is saying. 

“Yeah. ….Yeah! …. Definitely. …How did y – ok. …No, of course not! We don’t really have a preference for what you do with them as long as they – uh. ….No, I understand. Thank you. …his what? …I’ll uh, I’ll pass that along to him. Thank you, again.” Scott ends the call and walks back into the kitchen. 

“So the hunters have Ivan n’them,” Scott says like it’s a question, “and they are being ‘taken care of’, though I got the impression that Mr. Argent was saying that because someone else was in the room rather than, you know, like he was gonna kill them?”

Stiles blinks. “These are good things. Why do question the good things?”

Scott shakes his head and smashes his lips together. It makes him look like an exasperated puppy. “He said they got a ‘tip’. From a friend of yours.”

Stiles smiles sardonically, “So many friends, Scott. Gonna have to narrow that down.”

“Alex.”

Stiles almost falls out of his chair, “WHAT.” 

“Yeah,” Scott says running a hand through his hair, “I guess he went to them, told them what and where Ivan was, and that he’d seen him and his buddies chasing humans with, heh, ‘malicious intent’.” 

Stiles huffs because he isn’t sure if that is Chris’ phrasing or Alex’s. And then he smirks so hard something in the outer cosmos shatters. 

“Still think he’s a Bad Guy?” he says, eyes hooded with smug satisfaction. 

Scott makes the exasperated puppy face again, “One day you will learn to accept my over-protectiveness as the wonderful gift that it is. And anyway, it doesn’t change the fact that he’s **still** a screaming smelly shiny fire …thing.”

 

****

 

While Scott breaks the news to the pack, Stiles heads to his room. He’s a got a hot date with his laptop and one archaic bestiary. The drive to find out just what Alex is will become an obsession, he can already tell. It will morph into a deep itch that feels good to scratch even if it breaks skin doing so. Stiles knows there’s still a possibility that Alex could be dangerous. Like, Darach type of dangerous. The pack has made mistakes with trusting other creatures before (those goddamn faeries...), so he does understand Scott’s apprehension, but … there’s just something about Alex that is mollifying. Not just in the sex pollen way, and Stiles sadly admits to himself that the boner he has for Alex is probably 90% that, but in the gut reaction way. 

“My guts know evil,” he mumbles to himself while typing in the search bar, “he might not be a hero, but he ain’t _bad_.” 

The list of “fire entities” is a short one, only 20 or so, and he fist pumps the air at his luck. Elementals are hardest to identify. He’s spent many a night looking through _hundreds_ of water entities and was not at all anxious to repeat the process. Still, whatever Alex is may not even be in the bestiary, so with only 20 to research he’d still have time to google-fu if needed. 

The initial standouts are ifrit, lampade, phoenix, dragon, and holy crap _demon_ (and that one he mentally blacklists because it would mean working with others he'd much rather not. They are good what they do, it's a "family business", but that doesn't mean he likes doing "business" with them). But really, none of the standouts give him that knee-jerk THAT’S IT! reaction. So he starts to cross-reference.

“You’re thinking too small, Stiles,” he chides himself and adds ‘winged’ to the search. The results jump from 20 to 300.

Stiles lets his head drop unceremoniously to his desk, “Shit. Shit. Stupid shitty rat face.” He sighs and tucks in for a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for hanging in there with me. The story picks up considerably after this...
> 
> Also, [this](http://www.quickmeme.com/img/57/5732527236e63ef76f27fae1c49bcba70fb0e04352a1712315d23fc6d5e60185.jpg) is the exasperated puppy face.


	6. Better Learn from a Man Who's Afraid to Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize sincerely for how long it took me to get back to this. I just lost my muse and then did, in fact, stress myself into Not Writing. 
> 
> Also, this story is starting to Moby Dick on me and not be about what I initially thought it would be about. I've rewritten this chapter about 8 times but now I feel like I know where the story is headed and I'm fairly pleased with it. I hope you will be too. Thanks for all the encouraging comments :-).

Stiles wakes to a warm hand on the back of his neck. He’d spent the entire day combing the bestiary’s ridiculously huge list of creatures that Alex might be. Last he looked at the clock it was nearing 2 a.m. He turns his head to find Derek looking down at him, sharp nose twitching, all manly eyebrows, kaleidoscope eyes, sexy down-turned mouth and Stiles thinks, _who gave you the goddamn right_. He drops his head back down to the desk in an attempt to smother himself in his upper limbs. In his half-awake state, Stiles thinks Derek’s face is _rude_.

“Get in your bed,” Derek says softly. 

“Neeh. Gotta finish this,” Stiles mumbles into his arms. Derek slides his hand from Stiles’ neck to his armpit and lifts.

“Nope. You’re done for the night. Time for bed.” 

Derek slides his other arm around Stiles’ torso and tries to pick him up but Stiles sags like an old ornery dog. Not that it matters. Derek holds him up easily and waits. He’s breathing all funny like he’s about to sneeze but Stiles knows he’s not heavy. He slaps half-heartedly at Derek’s hands before giving in and letting himself be moved to his bed. Derek lays him down gently, sniffs and huffs like he’s offended by Stiles’ apathy, and begins taking off Stiles’ shoes. Stiles doesn’t even bother to open his eyes.

“Researrrrrrch,” Stiles croaks. 

“Bed.”

“Re-SURRRCHA!” 

“Shut up, Stiles. No.”

“REEEEEE –,” and then Derek’s mouth is on his. 

It’s a chaste kiss. At least, the first five seconds of it is, and then both men are a mass of flying arms and legs and desperate sounds as they try to wrap themselves around each other. 

“Getnaked. Getinthebed,” Stiles breathes into Derek’s mouth while Derek tries to snake himself out of his leather jacket. Stiles’ assistance with this only serves to lock Derek’s arms in the sleeves, pinning them behind his back. 

Stiles assesses Derek’s current lack of mobility. “This is fortuitous,” he says with a lascivious grin and then rolls them so that Derek is on his back, arms trapped behind him and Stiles is straddling Derek’s hips. Derek makes a noise that sounds like “guh” but Stiles swallows the rest of it and licks into Derek’s mouth hungrily. He slowly rocks himself against Derek’s crotch until Derek hisses and starts to grind up into him, too. 

“Wait, I need – ,” but Stiles cuts him off. 

“Shhh, shh, I know.” Stiles slides his hands under Derek’s shirt and up his sides. He rests his thumbs on Derek’s nipples. Derek drops his head back onto the bed and makes a guttural sound while Stiles’ thumbs massage the flesh into tight little nubs. He presses himself up into Stiles again then thrashes around trying to get his arms out of his jacket. Stiles chuckles. He presses down on Derek’s shoulders to hold him still. 

“Stiles. _Stiles_. I need to get my arms out. ”

“Mhm,” Stiles hums into Derek’s neck where he’s licking and nibbling. 

“No. Listen,” Derek thrashes around some more, “help me get my jacket off.”

“Oh you’re going to _get off_. Yes indeed.” Stiles says as he palms Derek through his jeans. 

Derek keens, “Stop. I need to touch you.”

Stiles mouths Derek’s collarbone through his shirt, “Those two sentences don’t go together.”

Derek makes a noise of frustration and tries to buck Stiles off him. Stiles chuckles and hangs on like a spider monkey, spindly limbs clinging to Derek’s body, mouth on his neck like a leech until Stiles hears a tearing sound. He leans back and finds Derek half wolfed out; eyes blazing blue and fanged. And he is _ripping himself out of his jacket_. 

“Whoa, shit, you were serious. Hang on, hang on let me help!” he leans forward and pulls the sleeves so the jacket will loosen around Derek’s arms. Derek rests his head on Stiles’ shoulder as he peels the leather down. Derek’s breathing is quick and shallow and Stiles is a little bit freaked out by how real shit just got. 

“I need to touch you,” Derek says thickly. The jacket falls beside the bed. 

“Ok,” Stiles whispers into Derek’s hair. He strokes Derek’s back. Derek makes another irritated noise. 

“I just need to …it’s on everything. But mostly you. Everything smells like him, like fire…” 

Stiles’ hands still, his expression suddenly stony, “…wait. What?” 

Derek’s hands are immediately everywhere. They’re smoothing down Stiles’ back and arms and sides, cupping his face, caressing his neck, rubbing down his thighs. 

“It’s everywhere,” Derek says breathlessly. “It’s on everything, like a goddamn blanket, like mud in the air, like smog.” Derek hugs Stiles tightly. Stiles’ arms hang limply at his sides. 

“So this …it isn’t even about us,” he says flatly while Derek rubs his cheek across Stiles’ chest. “You aren’t making out with me. …You’re _scenting_ me.”

“ –ust have been sitting in that chair,” Derek is mumbling into Stiles’ t-shirt before reaching up, grabbing the collar and shredding it down the back, “it’s all over this take it off you need to take it off.”

Stiles doesn’t move. He lets Derek shred the shirt and throw it unceremoniously to the farthest corner of the room. Derek mashes his face into Stiles’ skin. He’s making little hiccup sobs and any other time that kind of thing would have Stiles undone. Now, he just waits.

And isn’t this some shit. Stiles was ready to conceded that the only reason Derek was able to have this emotional bowel movement was because there was suddenly another supernatural willing party in the mix. But no. The touching Derek is doing has absolutely no sexual connotation to it. It isn’t romance or horniness or even jealousy. It’s _regulation_. Stiles is fully aware how some fire scents are triggering for Derek. But if he or his room smelled like burning, Scott would be the first person to tell him about it. So that bit seems more like a ruse. The truth is Derek doesn’t like Stiles smelling like anything that isn’t pack. And really, this was Stiles’ own fault. Or at least his own fault for forgetting that. 

It’s not like he didn’t know that a large part of the reason Derek and Cora came by so often was to freshen up the werewolf funk on his place. He knew it was for protection, so that if any wolves in the area got ideas, they’d know he had backup (or, in one instance, a wolf who needed help knew he was a human she could trust). Derek and Cora practically rubbed their butts on everything. Stiles just figured if Derek was gonna wallow on his couch Stiles might as well wallow with him. It’s how their first kiss happened. It’s how their first everything happened. So excuse him for thinking things between them were finally going to progress, that this was going to more than just a restinking session, because deep down, Stiles had hoped that Derek didn’t just want him to smell like _pack_ , that maybe just maybe, Derek wanted Stiles to smell like _Derek_. 

But every attempt Stiles made to move into that sort of possessive space stalled out. Derek would figuratively piss on random Stilinski items, pet Stiles a little bit in all his tender places and then leave for weeks. Stiles is disgusted that Derek would lead him on with a kiss and then pull the I-don’t-like-fire card just to be able to do this again. He also feels a tiny bit like a lecherous ass for totally misreading Derek’s attempts to backpedal it.

“Are you finished?” he says when Derek’s ministrations begin to ease. Derek doesn’t answer. Instead, he smooths a hand down Stiles’ backside and begins to kiss the crook of his neck. 

Stiles cuts his eyes, “You know, once I’m the _aroma_ you want, you don’t need to pacify me with sex.” He dislodges himself from Derek and goes to his dresser to get a pajama shirt, “As desperate as I obviously am, I still know an empty promise when I see one.” 

Without turning around he throws a curt “you can go now” at Derek. Derek moves to sit on the edge of the bed. Stiles can actually hear him trying to think of something to say and it only serves to ratchet up his already high level of annoyance.

“I don’t understand why you’re so angry,” Derek says finally. Stiles clenches his jaw until he thinks he might crack teeth. He turns to look at Derek’s confused face.

“I’m not angry.”

“And now I don’t understand why you’re lying,” Derek sighs. 

“I remind you of _this_ ,” Alex says from the window and if Stiles weren’t so pissed off he might have peed himself at that large a startle. Derek, though, wastes no time on being surprised. He’s wolfing out and moving to stand between them in a stance reminiscent of Wolverine. The low growl that’s coming out of him can be felt in the floor boards. Stiles does not have time nor patience for this level of bullshit. 

“Stop it,” he grits out and grabs Derek’s shoulder to push him aside. “You’re just mad because all your nonsexual manhandling was for nothing,” he mumbles as he breezes by. 

“Derek, this is Alex; the guy who saved your ass from Ivan.” Derek responds with more growling. “Alex is this Derek, the guy whose ass you saved.” Alex smiles. It is not a nice smile. 

Stiles gives Alex a stern look, “I see you got that fiery glory thing under control so why don’t you start using the front door. Or you know,” he picks up his phone and waves it in Alex’s face, “come with me into the 21st century.”

Alex blinks at Stiles.

“Also, I’ll try not to be creeped out at the fact that you were probably watching us for longer than what could ever be deemed appropriate.” 

Derek sniffs the air again and grimaces but a moment later his expression changes and he suddenly relaxes. “I know you,” he says and takes a step toward Alex. 

Alex’s eyes go wide. “No –“

“Yes,” Derek says and takes another step. “I know that scent - _your_ scent. Only one thing smells like fire. Not the smoke but the _flames_. Like heat. And I remember you …with my mother …I remember. Oh my god how are you still alive without her?”

Alex blinks. His shoulders, which were bunched together, drop slightly. “Derek. Of course. Derek … _Hale_. You are Talia’s other boy.”

“Yes,” Derek says and takes another step forward. Alex doesn’t step back but he angles his body so it’s now leaning away. 

“From the state of the Preserve, I’d thought your pack of puppies had all scurried off to much greener pastures, you know, _like you do_. That is, until yesterday when poor Stiles here was being chased because he has the displeasure of knowing one of you. How is good ol’ Talia these days?” he says bitterly.

“Dead.” Derek drops the word like an anvil. 

Alex spares one second to look surprised and then resumes his lip curling. “Mm. I wonder if she left one person too many hanging? Likely someone she deemed more powerful and more important than myself. Was it the Fae? That nasty bunch. Or just other wolves. Deucalion? Satomi? Or did Pele’s Mahealani people finally make themselves known?” 

“Hunters. Argents.”

This time Alex does not stifle his emotions, he is visibly shaken, “No. _No_. They have a code. Your mother was peaceful, I made sure they knew that. They _knew_.”

“And didn’t care,” Derek says while taking another step closer. This time Alex does step back. 

“But they knew,” he whispers to the floor, and grief distorts his features. 

Stiles, who has been watching the both of them carefully, moves toward Alex looking as if he intends to comfort him but really he’s just trying to get between him and Derek, who’s looking more and more lethal by the second. But he’s not fast enough. Derek quickly closes the gap between them and the moment before Stiles is knocked unconscious, all he sees is claws and fire.

When Stiles comes to a few moments later, Derek’s standing on his bed in the same Wolverine pose but his arms are burned black and his clawed hands are covered in gore. Stiles looks around and Alex is nowhere to be found. Glancing back at Derek, he sees Derek’s staring at the ceiling. Stiles looks up but what’s there isn’t Alex. 

It’s giant shiny fire thing. 

And it is screaming.


	7. But They Know The Sound Of Their Own Damn Scream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. I don't know what happened but this fic got HELLA DARK on me all of a sudden. Please read the tag updates, there are *many*. Please take care of yourselves and only read if you are comfortable with said tags. Please, please let me know if I missed something in said tags. Also, there's some flip flopping between time periods in this chapter. I hope it's not too confusing. 
> 
> Pretty sure the next chapter will be less dark. If you can make it through this one, there is definitely a surprising light at the end of this tunnel. Thanks again for reading.

_30 years ago…_

 

“Mama! MAMA!!” Lucia runs into the yard from the eastern side of the Preserve. Her mother, sisters and brother are mapping out the full moon pack run that will happen in a few days.

Talia Hale turns away from the maps toward her youngest daughter.

“Calm yourself, Lulu. What is it?”

“They’re going to kill it, mama! They’re tearing it apart! It’s gonna die!” the child breaks down into tears.

Talia thinks it likely her child is referring to mountain lions taking down a deer. Lucia is five now and not a wolf. She and Joseph agreed that their human children would need to understand the needs of their _were_ family members. So, they have begun conversations about the circle of life, predator and prey. Lucia, in particular, was not overly fond of the outcome of hunting. But there is an urgency within her daughter that worries at Talia. Lucia smells not only afraid, but _disturbed_. It makes her unsure in a way she is not accustomed to, as alpha.

“Tell me, baby, _who_ is going to kill _what_?”

Just then all four of the older wolves turn their heads to the east, listening.

“I heard …” Laura says and then frowns deeply. “Did you hear it, Mom?” she sniffs the air. Her brother Charles makes a low warning sound in his throat and takes off his jacket, preparing to shift.

“I did,” Talia says. “Stay here.”

“But mom –” Charles begins and then looks pointedly at her distended belly.

Talia makes no comment to what her son sees as her vulnerable state. Instead, she looks each of her children in the eye.

“ ** _Stay_**.”

As she fully shifts and lopes away, Talia hears Charles run into the house calling for his aunt and uncle. Laura whispers to her tearful little sister, “It’s ok, Lulu. Mama will fix it.”

Once she’s between the tress and out of sight of her children, Talia stills and listens for the sound again. In the yard, it had lasted no more than half a second and easily could have been written off as imagined, but Talia knew better. To her children the sound was unrecognizable but she had heard that sound in her youth. Her father had made her stay with Peter, who was only a baby then, but that particular shrill note never faded from her memory. Neither did the look of absolute terror that crossed her father’s face when he heard it.

Talia can hear a struggle taking place two miles to her left. Beneath the noise of that, she hears that distinctive sound and takes off like a shot in that direction. A mile out she picks out the scent of her husband Joseph …and Peter? She slows. There are too many familiar scents. Molly. David. Six of them to be exact. All of them from her pack. In the distance she hears raucous laughter but the permeating smell in the air is _malice_. It sours her stomach and Talia has to shift back to human to retch quietly behind a tree. She quickly walks the remaining half mile, finding one of her clothing stows along the way. She finds herself thankful for the cover of the robe as she enters a clearing.

The air is no longer heavy with the scent of just malice. Now it is also rancid with the smells of hostility, rage, disgust, and surprisingly strongest among all: lust. Underneath all of that is the sharp tang of unimaginable pain. Her pack members are standing in a loose circle and looking at the ground where the body of a boy is burning. Peter is fully beta shifted. He has his head thrown back, laughing. Joseph, who is human, wears an expression of pure abhorrence. He kicks the burning boy hard in the ribs and then he kicks again. And then he kicks _again_. Talia’s sister, Leila, makes a pleased sound as she stoops to grab a smoldering limb. She half-shifts and bites into it. Gideon, Joseph’s brother, licks his bloody fangs then growls low and long as he begins to unbuckle his pants.

“ _Why?_ ” Talia whispers through her shock of the scene before her. She knows her kin will hear and smell her. She is expecting all six of them to cease this monstrous ritual and turn to their alpha, but only Peter acknowledges her presence.

“Mmm sister-mine, come join in the fun. He’s dying, he can’t protect himself.” Peter turns from the group and walks toward her. His pants are already undone and with one bloody hand he is petting himself. Talia realizes that the tang of lust is coming largely from him. His grin is rictus.

“And he smells so fucking delicious.”

 

****************

 

Derek is yelling a word that doesn’t make any sense.

“VADAROGA!! I thought it was you! I thought you helped them! Helped _her_! Because of what they did to you! VADAROGA! Where were you then? Where were YOU! Great _devourer_ of evil? WHERE WERE YOU?”

The sound in the room is as deafening as the temperature is stifling. Then, from seemingly everywhere, a voice booms.

_“Stupid boy.”_

“VADAROGA!” Derek screams. “She died! She _burned_! And where were you? No _soma_ for the dogs! How dare you even say her name!”

_“You know …nothing.”_

The last word is accompanied by a gale force wind created by a slight movement of wings. Stiles’ desk and posters and most of his furniture are a lost cause. Derek is almost blown off the bed but he hunkers down and braces against it using, what looks like, every supernatural muscle in his entire body. Stiles looks around the room for anything that will help in this situation but all he sees is bubbling paint on the walls; singed edges of papers; warped, splintered, and sparking pieces of bookcases. The windows begin to rattle and he knows it will only be moments before they shatter either from the sound, the wind, or the heat.

Stiles closes his eyes in defeat. “We’re going to die,” he thinks and then opens his eyes again. Alex (can that really be him?) is a hot orange mass above them. Stiles tries to look at him dead on but it makes his brain hurt, like he’s seeing some sort of Eldrich Abomination, all wrong angles and twisted logic. _It would hurt you, mentally,_ he remembers. When he turns his head and looks from his left eye, there’s an exquisitely plumed bird made of fire, from his right; a bird-like man with wings made of what he can only guess is _the fucking sun_. It reminds him of story his mom used to tell him of things with wings so big they would use them to embrace the moon, to protect it from evil. Regardless of which eye Stiles sees him through, Alex has his wings spread across the entire expanse of the ceiling and somehow Stiles knows without a doubt that he is actually much, much bigger than this.

Exponentially bigger.

The realization that, for some unknown reason, Alex is _holding back_ snaps Stiles into action. He rolls away from the wall and belly crawls toward the bed where Derek is still roaring like an irate lion. Something thick, yellow, and fragrant is dripping from the ceiling in large, congealing globs. It looks like liquefied gold. Stiles is pretty sure it’s Alex’s blood.

It’s then that things suddenly start sliding into place.

 

_from his left eye, an exquisitely plumed bird made of fire…_

_from his right; a bird-like man with wings…_

 

Stiles stares at the floor, while his mind reels. “The beastiary. Nothing fit because I was thinking too small. Looking for one fire entity.”

 

_You’re thinking too small, Stiles..._

_Giant shiny fire thing…_

_You’re thinking too small, Stiles..._

_I don’t shift, I **am** … _

_You’re thinking too small, Stiles..._

_VADAROGA!_

_great devourer of evil, no_ soma _for the dogs_

_You’re thinking too small, Stiles..._

**_You’re thinking too small, Stiles..._ **

 

Stiles bangs his head on the floor. “She tried to tell me!” he yells to himself as another gold glob splatters on the wall.

 

_Things with wings so big they can embrace the moon…_

 

“Not _things_ with wings,” Stiles murmurs and lifts his head from the floor. His hair whips around in the wild wind, “Gods. It was a story about gods.”

Stiles' eyes go wide. He looks toward the ceiling with recognition.

 

****************

 

Talia knows to turn her eyes away would be submitting to Peter and acknowledging that the disgusting thing he is doing with himself is worthy of an alpha. She will die before she gives him that.

“Do you know what he is? Did you listen to nothing Father told us? Peter. Lucia saw you doing this. Are you insane?”

Peter only laughs and strokes himself languidly.

“Stop this,” she says, looking only at his eyes, “before you destroy the already delicate balance we have.”

Peter thumbs the head of his cock. “You mistake me for someone who wants to keep that balance.” Behind him, Talia tries not to register that Gideon is vigorously fucking the roasting body and fails. She snarls a warning and Gideon slows his rhythm, turns to her with huge, empty eyes, but does not stop.

“What have you done to them?” she hisses at Peter.

Peter laughs. “It’s not me. Can’t you smell it?” he says and stretches his grin impossibly wide. He pulls his hand from inside his pants and shoves it in her face. “He smells of all the tasty things, of meat, of hunt, of heat, of fucking. Doesn’t it make you wet?”

Talia slaps Peter’s face with everything she has. When he hits the ground, the snap of the bone in his shoulder is audible. Peter’s grin disappears. He blinks several times before starting to sit up.

“Talia? Tal. I didn’t mean it. I don’t know wha … I didn’t mean it-”

Talia ignores him. She unleashes an alpha howl that is heard four towns over and answered by every beta in the vicinity. Molly and David, who were feasting on the boy’s chest and leg respectively, fling themselves several feet away and lie flat on the ground, bellies up, necks bared. Gideon makes a startled noise and scoots himself as far away from the boy as possible, while trying to pull on his trousers. Leila turns to vomit what bits of flesh she has already swallowed onto the forest floor. Joseph backs away from all of them until a tree stalls his retreat. Then he simply slides down the trunk to sit at its roots.

Talia’s voice is pitched lower than any human could ever accomplish, “We are not _dogs_. We are not _vermin_. You shame our species, our birthrights, our _oaths_. I should make omegas of all of you. Do you know what you have done? What you have **_sullied_**?”

The boy has turned himself on to his stomach and is using the one arm he has left to drag his torrid body across the ground. His body ignites itself again and the sound he makes this time is long and sorrowful. Talia goes to him. She places her hands carefully across his back and takes as much of his pain as she can. The boy turns his head to toward her, one beautiful silver eye visible in the surrounding charred flesh.

“I promise you,” she murmurs reverently, “I promise you, you will not end here, not like this.”

 

****************

 

Stiles reaches behind him and scoops up a handful of the golden muck. _“To immortality!”_ Stiles yells at Alex, and brings the mess toward his mouth.

In an instant, the sound ceases, the wind calms, and the fire is out. Alex, now humanoid, yells, "No!" and drops to the carpet, landing on one knee, his breathing labored. Stiles can see where Derek has gouged out most of the flesh at Alex's throat and sides. The inside of him gleams and auric blood stains what's left of his clothing. Alex lifts his head and looks at Stiles, his silver eyes filled with dread.

Stiles immediately turns and jumps into a bear hug around Derek, who has taken this as the perfect opportunity to rend Alex’s flesh a lot more thoroughly.

“Please,” he whispers as Derek roars again and tries to remove Stiles from his waist, “please let me fix this. Derek. I know what he is, what he was supposed to do. _Please_.”

Derek stops fighting. He doesn’t move toward Alex but he doesn’t actually calm himself to human form either. Stiles turns back to Alex, whose hands have melted the carpet where they are touching it. Alex drops his gaze.

“Say my name,” he rasps.

“Which one?” Stiles asks softly. Alex makes a sound then. A sob.

“All of them.”


	8. With A Witch Like Me and Her Wicked Trance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff in this chapter...
> 
> Like I said, this story keeps going in directions I never thought it would but I'm happy it did. Hope you're still enjoying the read :-)

The boy struggles to get away when he realizes it’s Peter who’s carrying him. Talia places a warm hand on his cheek to calm him and takes his pain. 

The boy turns his head away from her hand and mouths words in Aramaic: “not too much”. He gives a meaningful look at her pregnant belly. Talia catches his meaning and only smiles at him in return, “we are both stronger than we look.” 

Several of his teeth have been kicked out of his mouth. His nose is obviously broken and perhaps, Talia thinks, his orbital socket is fractured as well. Her pack did this to him and yet, he is thinking only of her safety.

The boy’s body tries to ignite again and he screams. Peter falls to one knee and almost drops him. The skin on Peter’s arms and chest burn away, blister, and begin to heal. 

“Stings a bit,” he mumbles to his sister.

“You deserve it.” 

Peter averts his eyes, “I know.”

Talia turns her attention back to the boy, “We are taking you somewhere sacred, though it won’t look it. The doctor is skilled in many arts, sciences, alchemies, and magics. You’ll be able to complete your cycle.”

But the boy doesn't hear her words of comfort. He’s unconscious again. 

*

Talia holds open the door to the veterinarian clinic so Peter can carry the boy to the rear exam room. The doctor mumbles something and digs around in a bag of supplies. 

“Thank you, Claudia.” 

“Oh don’t thank me yet,” Claudia mumbles, “I haven’t done anything but say ‘sure, bring his crispy ass in!’ Thank me when the magic works, **if** it works. Because it might not. I haven’t done this type of enchantment in a dog’s age, so… Magic is a temperamental bitch a lot of the time. It’s tricksy business. Like hobbitses. Hairy footed tricksy spells and things. Heh heh heh ahem. I’m sorry. I’m rambling. I’m nervous. I've never worked on a deity before.” 

Talia does not try to hide her smile. She knows from experience that the fae, despite their awesome amount of power, are often contemptible charlatans, but this particular faerie never ceases to amuse and amaze with her special brand of tenacity and her capacity for kindness. Claudia must be near 200 years old, a babe in her culture, but her glamour let's her easily pass for a human 25. She had only been living as a human for 40 years when she became Talia’s grandmother’s emissary, 60 when she became her father’s, and Talia was pleased 10 years ago when Claudia agreed to be hers as well. 

Claudia straightens having grabbed several items from her bag and stashing them in her lab coat. She blinks her honey brown eyes and takes a deep breath, clearly steadying herself.

“After you, Alpha Hale.” 

Waiting in the exam room is a young man with a serious countenance. He takes the items from Claudia’s lab coat and begins to sterilize them. 

“My new apprentice; Alan. He’s just graduated high school. He will surpass me one day, I just know it. He’s too Zen not to. Alan, these are our resident werewolves; Alpha Talia Hale and her beta brother, Peter.”

Alan continues to sterilize. “I know.” 

Claudia shrugs, “Of course you do.” She turns her back on Alan and dramatically rolls her eyes. Peter snorts before remembering himself.

Claudia’s demeanor dramatically changes as she addresses the boy draped across her exam table. It’s as if a soft light comes on inside her and solaces everything in the room. 

“Hey there,” she says quietly while doing a gentle physical assessment. “As much as I hate to say this, I will need you to wake up for me, just for a few moments so I can look into your eyes. …come on, buddy.” Claudia stretches a gloved hand toward Alan who places a purple root in her palm. She massages the root with her fingers and then rubs the essence inside the boy’s lips. She looks up at Talia suddenly.

“You might wanna-” 

The boy’s body ignites like a solar flare as the exam room fills with heat and light. Talia’s thrown toward the back of the room where Peter catches her before she hits a tower of animal cages.

“Oh shit.” Claudia snaps her fingers at Alan who is frantically digging through a drawer. The boy’s body bows on the table leaving only his head and feet touching the metal, which is quickly rusting away. Fiery wings materialize to wave around wildly then shoot straight up into the ceiling, knocking out the light fixture. Everyone takes cover. The wings bristle for a moment, bringing down shelving and chunks of drywall, then slowly fold over the boy’s now prostrate body. Blue flames burning low in height but high in intensity cover his entire body. 

After a few moments of quiet, Claudia peeks over a counter. “Well. That went exactly as planned, didn't it?” She stands and smiles wanly at a drywall dust-covered Talia and Peter. 

“Now all we have to do is wait.” 

“How long?” Talia asks while Peter helps her to her feet. 

Claudia brushes some of the drywall from her hair, “Welllllll ...I don’t really know. I could go ask an elder but it would be, oh, 20-30 years before they let me come back to give you the answer. So we’re going to have to hope really freaking hard that the stories I've been told all my existence are very close to truth, or at the very least, accurate, because they are the thing …on which I am basing these other …things …that we are doing. Yeah.” Claudia grimaces. Alan materializes from somewhere behind her.

“I think what will – Talia, are you all right?”

Talia waves her off. “I’ll be fine. Please continue.” But even Alan can see that this isn't quite the truth. Talia’s cheeks are ruddy. She is sweating and breathless. Her hands rub absently at her belly.

Claudia frowns, “You shouldn't be here, Talia. We just got an perfect example of how it’s not safe for you or the baby.”

“No. I’m not leaving him. I promised him he would be able to end his cycle and I mean to keep that promise. I owe him –“

“You owe my people _more_ ,” Claudia snaps and Talia is reminded that no matter how kind or congenial Claudia is, no matter how many years Claudia lives as a human or how colloquially she speaks, Claudia is still fae, who are never to be defied without a cost. And Talia has just very carelessly told a faerie “no”. Under this much stress, it isn't surprising that Claudia would find that insulting or that she might begin to require the _filigree_ of speech normally desired by her kin creatures.

Talia, mindful this time of eloquence, nods once and does not look Claudia in the eye again. A sign of respect she would not give to anyone else.

But Claudia appears shamefaced at her outburst. She folds her hands together and gives Talia a beseeching look. “Alpha, I know how important it is that he survive. I will do everything in my power, and probably some things that I really shouldn't, to make sure that he does but only he can will himself to live.” She looks over at the blue flames quietly engulfing the table. “He has to **want** to rise.”

The four of them gaze at the body on the table, enthralled by the glow of the fire. Claudia removes her gloves and very carefully reaches forward to place her hand on Talia’s belly. Her warm brown eyes darken to black. Trance-like she says, “your baby is due in twenty days but he comes tomorrow. ...Impatient little hot head.” Then she blinks the black away and pins Peter with an unwavering stare.

“Take her home.”

********

Stiles exhales sharply to get the smell of burned carpet from his nose. He fixes his eyes on Alex, who is still kneeling, smoking, and bleeding gold in the middle of the room.

“Do you know what I study at school in Portland?” Stiles asks carefully. Derek growls impatiently behind him and Stiles raises his clean hand in Derek’s direction, the universal symbol of “wait”.

“I double majored. Classical Lit and Religious Studies. My minor is Comparative Mythology. I’ll never find a fucking job with any of that but it doesn't matter. Know why? Because those are the best backdoors to factual lore in western education. Helps to have a pretty comprehensive bestiary to supplement that. So I know your names, Alex.” Stiles holds up his gold-covered hand, “I spent two semesters researching Hindi puranas and smriti and I wrote a bomb ass paper on _Chol_ freshman year. I know _all_ of them. But that’s not how I know _you_.”

Alex coughs up a red-gold mass and spits it to his left. Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles spies Scott’s hair peeking past the door frame. Scott, and likely Isaac, are listening just outside the room, waiting for Stiles’ signal to pounce. Stiles can feel Derek move closer and knows he needs to hurry the hell up with this exposition. “But that’s not surprising to you. Is it.” 

Alex is still for a long moment and then rasps, “No.” 

“In fact,” Stiles says narrowing his eyes, “despite your little Oscar-worthy performance a few minutes ago, you know a lot about both of us. Derek and me. Don’t you.”

Alex clenches his teeth until the muscle in his jaw jumps, “…yes.”

“She told me about you,” Stiles says, mad at himself for letting his voice break when he says it. “It was the first story she ever told me and the only one she ever repeated. ‘A tale of gods and monsters!’ she would exclaim. ‘Aquila and Faye! The star and the faerie!' They had many crazy adventures and they were so in love, but doomed like a supernatural Romeo and Juliet." Stiles smiles a little. "I figured out she was Faye by the time I was six …I just didn't know, not until now, that she was actually – heh. You said I was _mostly_ human.” 

Stiles shakes his head, swallows back the tears. “You loved her. You loved that her hair smelled like tree nuts and her body felt like electricity and that she said whatever came into her head. You loved that she was humorous - because man, she was _so funny_. And attractive and brave and intelligent. All the things you said you hadn't experienced in a long time until I reminded you that you wanted them. You loved her and for a time, she loved you back.”

Alex says nothing. He simply stares at Stiles. 

“I remind you of her because I’m her son. But you knew that. Didn't you.”

Alex grips his side and looks at the melted carpet beneath his fingers. He chuckles. “You have mastered the art of asking a question so it does not sound like a question, Stiles.” 

Stiles waits for Alex to speak again, to tell a new version of a story he loves. 

 

********

 

“Go home, Alan.” Claudia says in a way that broaches no argument. “I’m not feeling very human tonight.” 

“I noticed,” Alan says and places a gentle hand on her shoulder. 

“I made a lot of mistakes today…” Claudia starts.

“But this was not one of them,” Alan finishes. “It won’t be your fault, no matter what transpires here the rest of this night. You've done all you can.”

Claudia smiles at him then, watches him leave, leans on the counter and begins to cry. Behind her, the intense blue flames extinguish themselves. The wing-wrapped body of the boy turns an ashen black and collapses into dust. 

Claudia hears the rush of air and turns toward the table. She stares at the flameless ash for a long moment. Takes two steps closer and stares some more. After several minutes, she raises her fists in the air and yells in frustration. Before she knows it, she’s at the table, standing over the ashes. 

“…come on, buddy. ….come on. Come onnnnnn. ….Come. On. … Goddamn it don’t do this!” 

Claudia strips off her lab coat and throws it to the ground. She quickly walks around to the other side of the table while rolling up the sleeves of her shirt. She closes her eyes and takes three big, deep breaths. 

“If this doesn't work, we are both going to be in some very deep kimchi.” 

She holds up her hands, palms out, and for a moment, the room is nothing but still. A low hum begins in the corners and quickly spreads across each wall and then inward toward the exam table. Claudia spreads her arms to her sides and then opens wide white eyes.

_“Tuairisceán arís , ar ais arís…_  
_Fill ar ais go dtí an talamh ar do anam…_  
_Fill ar ais go cé tú féin…_  
_Fill ar ais leis an méid a bhfuil tú…_  
_Fill ar ais go dtí an áit a bhfuil tú…_  
_Rugadh agus rugadh arís!”_

With extraordinary force, Claudia slams her hands together over the ashes. A small but bright light, much like the one that lit her from within, blooms to life between her palms.

_“Belenus, Brighid, Airmid, Lugh …  
impigh mé de tú cabhrú liom.”_

Claudia lowers her hands to the ash and gently places the blossom where the boy’s chest once was. She leans down close and whispers with desperation, “ _please…_ ”, then breathes on the tiny flame.

She waits there for 24 minutes before beginning to cry again. Her tear drops turn the ash to tiny dots of black muck.

“I don’t even know where to place your remains,” she says quietly. “And in the end, would it matter? I mean, I could sweep you up and keep you in a pretty urn or something. But then I’d have to explain to people who you were. I’m just not sure that ‘oh this? This is the half-god I tried and failed to save, whose existence has been said to earmark the beginning and end of civilization as we know it so you should probably be running and screaming now that he’s conked it’ is going to go over so well with the townies. But it’s cool, I’m not bitter,” she wipes her eyes, “even though I didn't get to know your name.” 

She sighs and moves to retrieve the flame but it suddenly drops, impossibly, into a hole inside the exam table. Claudia eyes the hole suspiciously but continues to reach in anyway when a claw-like hand shoots out. It grabs her arm and pulls. 

Claudia doesn't scream. Instead she lets out a triumph, “HA!” She reaches in with her other arm and tugs with all her might. Another claw-like hand inches its way out of the impossible hole and wraps scorching fingers around her upper arm. Claudia gets her foot braced against the counter and yanks. The hole belches out a body-shaped fireball and then disappears. The fireball lands on top of her and she thinks, “Well, there are worse ways to die…” before realizing that the flames aren't burning her. She looks up into a perfect face with large, silver eyes. 

“Alistair,” he says. He looks down at her in wonderment while the flames covering his body dissipate to nothing more than smoke. “Alistair is ainm dom.” 

Claudia grins from ear to ear, “you speak Gaelic! No one speaks Gaelic except for me! Alan refuses to learn. Oh my gosh, we can have so many secret conversations. We can talk trash about his facial hair.”

Alistair smiles at her and blinks. 

Claudia keeps grinning and says through her teeth, “You have no idea what I just said, do you?” She chuckles to herself. “Ok, so I know you understand the word ‘name’. How much English do you have?”

Alistair continues to smile and blink. 

_Aww poor, dumb baby_ , she thinks, _good thing you’re so pretty_. She runs a hand down the line of his jaw. Alistair makes a quiet, happy noise then moves his head so her fingers skate across his lips. Behind them something flaps and settles. Their eyes lock and Claudia suddenly remembers that he’s naked and on top of her. As they continue to look in each other’s eyes, Claudia decides that neither of those things bother her much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spell translated from Gaelic:
> 
> Return again, back again ...  
> Return to the land of your soul ...  
> Return to who you are ...  
> Return to what you ...  
> Return to where you are ...  
> Born and born again!


	9. A Spider Bite is a Natural Wound but a Dagger in the Back is a Plastic Tomb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> I sincerely apologize for taking so long to get back to this. I went through some Stuff and writing of any kind had to take a backseat, which sucked. And then I admittedly just got lazy for a little while. I've had this chapter half written since summer of 2015 and I've been working on it in little spurts since then, in between Stuff and Lazy. And then in January someone left me a nice little comment that lit a fire under my butt and I started thinking about this fic again and working on this chapter. And then yesterday the rest of the fic just poured out of me in one big glob. So it won't be a WIP for long. I do have an ending! One more chapter after this :-)
> 
> Also, I gotta mention ...Ok, I know fandom says the Sheriff's name is John but this fic wants it to be Paul. I keep changing it to John and somehow it changes itself back to Paul so I give up, man. I give up. Don't hate me because I called him Paul, ok? The fic wants what the fic wants.
> 
> Thank you all for reading.

“I did not know Talia was dead,” Alex whispers, “Certainly not by Argent hands. If there is one thing you choose to believe in what I say now,” his eyes shift to Derek, “please believe that.” Derek only curls his lip in response.

“I thought that she left me. I thought perhaps she’d finally taken up with the fae, who always campaigned so hard for _were_ affection. Or that Peter had convinced her to – any manner of things,” he shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. In the midst of my greatest despair, she sent me away and when I returned, she, and everyone else I loved, was gone.” 

Alex coughs and gestures languidly with his head toward the door, “you should tell your alpha and his beta to come in now. I pose no immediate threat to either of them.” 

Scott moves more fully into the doorway. “Funny you phrase it that way, considering you’re the one dripping guts onto the floor.” 

Alex smiles his not nice smile again. “Do not mistake my self-pity for incapacitation, puppy.”

Scott opens his mouth to retort but Stiles clears his throat to get Scott’s attention. He motions for Scott and Isaac to come in with a quick movement of his hands. They do so very slowly and settle on either side of the doorframe, Isaac near the bed and Scott near the window. Their red and gold eyes stay trained on Alex.

Alex looks back to Stiles. “Your mother,” he begins and then smiles in a way that shows Stiles just how brokenhearted he really is, “she was spectacular. Yes, we loved each other fiercely and completely for several years. She served the Hale pack as emissary and I served as …” he pauses to think of the appropriate term.

“ _Armament._ ” Derek supplies. 

Alex nods once. “We were very good at our jobs and Talia was very good to us. I’m sure by now you know that Beacon Hills is a veritable hellmouth, so our services were required often and very much appreciated. Or so I thought.”

Derek tries to step around Stiles and grits out, “Get to the part where you abandon my mother so Kate Argent could manipulate me and then burn my entire family alive.” 

“Kate,” Alex says and spits again, “I am not surprised.” Derek growls loudly in response.

“But you misunderstand. I don’t know what you were told but I didn’t abandon anyone. Talia sent me away, or rather, sent me to convalesce. I admit that losing Claudia’s love to Paul Stilinski was painful, but I had long known that I would never be human enough for her. I held on to the fact that eventually, fifty years, sixty, we would rekindle what we had until she found another human to infatuate herself with. Except her elders, her clan, her mother, they were so unforgiving of her proclivities. Do you know _that_ story, Stiles? Of how they stripped her of half her power? Of how they tore her in two and left her diseased and defeated?”

Stiles stares at Alex, stunned. Several things he’s never understood about his mother’s illness suddenly slot into place and he is livid about it. 

“No.” he says darkly, “And I don’t want to hear it from you now.”

“I’m sorry.” Alex says with sincerity. “I understand. She wouldn’t allow me help her the way she helped me. When she passed, I was …inconsolable.”

“And completely useless to us,” says a voice from behind them. 

Everyone but Alex looks up as Peter steps into the room like a comic book villain. He crosses his arms and skeptically eyes the group. 

“You do _know_ what he is, don’t you?” He says condescendingly to all of them.

Stiles throws his head back in frustration and says, “Jesus fucking Christ, of course it’s you.”

Stiles steps between Peter and Alex. “Yeah, we _knooow_ , ok. You want me to start listing sun gods and Garuda and shit? Cuz we don't have time for that. So there’s no need for you to skulk around here speaking in nebulous riddles, Peter. In fact, why don’t you just slither right the fuck back out the door since _you’re_ pretty useless to _us_.” 

Peter stares at Stiles and smirks, “Always did love your mouth.” 

“Gross.”

Peter smiles. He relaxes his shoulders and clasps his hands behind his back then begins slowly walking around the room. At some point while Stiles was speaking Alex stood up, and from the lack of splats heard, Stiles is assuming he’s finished healing himself. But Alex, for the first time, looks distinctly on guard; not the avoidant body language and fighting style he had for Derek (who is glowering at his uncle like he’s made of smelly sock), but like a video game character who’s got his health bar back up and combo bar full. Like he’s about to seriously fuck some shit up Mortal Kombat style. 

“I asked,” Peter enunciates each word carefully, “if you know what he is, not who he was.”

“And the difference is?” Isaac asks, eyes narrow.

“Pronouns and tenses, my dear boy.” 

Stiles drags his hand down his face. “Oh my god Peter get to the point or shut the fuck up.” 

Peter huffs a laugh and continues his stroll around the room. Alex smoothly follows Peter’s movements closely with his eyes, making his head twist around as it did when he and Stiles were hiding in the tree. Was that really just a few days ago? Seems like a lifetime…

“What he is,” Peter states, punctuating each word with a nod of his head while he continues to circle the room, “is much better than any stolen alpha power, any druid spell or … human ingenuity.” Peter leans toward Stiles at these last words and leers. 

“Even that pretty muck in your hands, his blood, it can change _everything_ ,” he says and stops his saunter. “For me, at least.” He adds and then smiles a rictus grin. 

Something large and roaring suddenly crashes through the window and tackles Scott. Peter uses the distraction to beta shift and sucker punch Isaac with an upper cut that flings the younger man into the far wall. Isaac lands with a painful sounding thwack and doesn’t get up again. Derek moves to attack just as the large thing from the window presses its claws to Scott’s throat.

“ _Marcus_.” Derek growls. 

“I’d say it was good to see you, Hale, but it ain’t. It never is.”

“I didn’t kidnap you’re sister-“

Marcus snorts, “I don’t give any shit what you did or didn’t do with my sister. That was my dad’s panty knot. I’m here because Peter pays well and because any opportunity to kick your ass is a good one.”

Peter shrugs comically and stage whispers “he just doesn’t like you, Derek.”

Scott struggles in Marcus’ grip and gets a punch to the kidney for his troubles. 

“This was a nice little reunion but,” Peter turns away from Derek to roar at Alex, “ _give me what I want!_ ” 

“Or what?” Alex asks calmly. “Will you kill them all, Peter?” and to Stiles’ surprise Alex doesn’t seem the least bit put off by any of the happenings of the last few minutes. “Will you murder your kin – again. Expire these children. All for a power you can’t fully use or really understand. You stupid, simple mongrel.”

Peter roars at the insult and Marcus digs his claws deep enough into Scott’s throat to draw blood. 

“No, old man, not all of them,” and Peter smiles that rictus grin again as he makes his way across the room to snatch up Stiles by the arm and hair. “I’ll just kill _him_.”

Stiles struggles to get away and without any preamble Peter grabs three of his fingers and breaks them. The squawk of pain is heard for only a second before it’s drowned out by Scott’s murderous growl and Alex’s thunderous wings. 

“Now, now,” Peter warns them both and grabs Stiles’ other hand, “I’ll pull the fucking things off if Big Bird mouths off to me again or does anything insipid like say, blow me out the side of the house. Or if True Alpo here doesn’t think I see him making eyes at Derek to flank me.” Peter turns his head then to glare meaningfully at Derek, who has frozen his sideways creep to the blindspot on Peter’s left side. 

“Don’t test me, nephew. Killing him will hurt you more than anyone else.” And normally Stiles would have caught the significance of that statement but the blinding pain in his hand has his mind preoccupied just now. 

“Hurt him again and I’ll –" 

“Continue to make idle threats, yes, yes, I _know_ ,” Peters sighs and rolls his eyes. “Now that we’ve covered all the clichés, what say we get down to business, yes?” 

“What do you want, Peter?” Stiles grunts from his hold on the floor. 

“Why, the only thing that matters in a world like ours: power. **His** power to be exact.” And he inclines his head toward Alex. “Give me the flame, old man. I know you know how. I know you tried to give it back to this little idgit’s sow of a mother but she was too stupid to take it. So give it to me. If you won’t use it to its potential, I certainly will. I’ve always thought selflessness was a waste of valuable resources anyway.” 

Alex shakes his head and speaks quietly, “what makes you think subjugation is power at its fullest potential? How small minded you are.” 

Peter pulls on Stiles’ hair, yanking his head back then holds up Stiles’ two unbroken fingers. His eyes never leave Alex’s as he pops the bones in half. Stiles tries to muffle his scream behind his teeth. Peter grabs the other hand and holds up three of the fingers. 

“To quote a great woman ‘ _Power_ is power’ and I want yours. Give it to me. Now. Or I will break him apart one- **_pop_** -tiny- **_pop_** -piece- **_pop_** -at a time.” 

Derek makes a noise that sounds like a choking dinosaur and launches himself at his uncle, who holds Stiles up as a shield and laughs as Derek nearly breaks his own neck trying to throw himself out Stiles’ way at the last second. The laugh is short lived though because now Peter can see Scott, red-eyed and furious, land a horrendous punch to the solar plexus then tear off Marcus’ hand before throwing him back out the window. 

“Shit.” 

Peter decides now is a good time to cut his losses and makes for the door with Stiles’ limp and mewling body in tow. As he’s turning to shout something incendiary and snide to the group, Isaac reaches out from his spot in the floor and grabs his foot. Peter trips, his grip on Stiles loosens and Derek roars by, snatching him from Peter’s grasp. 

Peter beta shifts and moves to attack Derek, angry that his only bit of leverage has been taken from him by his worthless nephew but then Scott steps into view and Peter actually cowers. The red of Scott’s eyes is so bright and so fierce, it looks like it’s reflecting itself outside of his eyes. The entire top half of his head is sheathed in red light. Peter, honest to god, _whines_ , then turns toward to door to make a run for it but smacks right dead center into Alex’s chest. He looks up into mercury eyes. 

Alex snakes his arms around Peter’s waist, leans forward, as if to kiss him and says, “this will hurt you.” They shoot off through the top of the house and up into the sky at an obscene speed followed only by Stiles’ weak protest of “not the roof, awwww maaan….” 


	10. No Matter How Hard You Try You Can't Fuck With This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the ending, my friends. As I said, this is my first fic and although took me 84 years, it's really awesome to finally have this finished. Hope you all like it. Thank you for the kudos and comments!

Peter clutches at Alex and gasps for breath as they ascend past the stratosphere. He tries to look around but they are going so fast that the wind burns his corneas to nearly nothing. He should be cold, he knows, but he’s sweating profusely against the heat that Alex is creating. They stop suddenly and there’s a brightness behind him, a brightness that Peter can _feel_ and is afraid to look at. 

“Please…” he mumbles into Alex’s chest, “take me back.”

Peter feels small now in Alex’s arms. So very small. Miniscule. As if Alex is holding him there by one finger. When Alex speaks it is the sound of the yawning chasm of space pulled tight into a single word. 

**_Look._**

“N-n-nooo. No!” Peter begins to cry.

 ** _LOOK._**

Peter slowly turns his face toward the light, his tears drying instantly in the heat. His eyebrows and eyelashes singe to stubs and the hair on his head blows away to a few dry straw-like strands. 

**_This is a piece of the power you want. This is just a sliver of what you think you can wield._**

Peter is screaming.

**_Look at your flesh. It burns and curls at the mere sight of the sun, Peter._**

At this, Alex turns him to look into his white-hot eyes. He drops all pretense of humanity now, his voice searing into Peter’s brain, his eyes branding Peter’s skin, his teeth carving meaning into Peter’s bones. Peter sees him for what he truly is and goes limp. 

**_I am the fire, Peter. I AM the sun, its gods, its children. There is nothing in you inexorable or profound enough to hold this._**

Alex’s wings fan the flames. Peter continues to scream.

 

****

 

Scott helps up Isaac. He sets Isaac’s shoulder with a _crunch_ and they make their way over to Derek and Stiles. Derek’s cleaning ceiling debris off Stiles, careful not to brush against his hands which are purple, gnarled, and swollen to twice their size. He sets Stiles against the wall and begins pulling pain off of him.

“Awww yeah that’s the stuff…” Stiles’ head thumps back against the wall as he closes his eyes to the sensation. 

Scott snorts. He and Isaac bend and reach for Stiles to pull at his pain as well but Derek forgets himself and snarls nastily at them. Scott’s eyes go red. Derek quickly mumbles out a “sorry” but Stiles’ head shoots forward from the wall and he glares at Derek. 

“So it IS you.”

Derek looks a bit like a trapped animal and turns to Scott in apology and confusion. Scott just gives him big brown dude-I-have-no-idea eyes. 

“W-what do you mean, Stiles?” 

“It’s not a pack thing.” Stiles says without missing a beat. “I always kinda figured you visited me at school and stank me up to smell like pack but Scott and Isaac, they’re pack and you, under no uncertain terms, just told them not to touch me. You told your ALPHA not to touch me. So it’s not a pack thing, it’s a you thing.” 

Scott totally soccer-mom-arms Isaac to back them away from this obvious bomb of a situation.

“Well, Derek, you don’t get to do that. You either stake your claim or shut the fuck up.”

Derek stammers at the bravado, “What? Claim? You’re not property, Stiles. What kind of- ”

“Oh spare me the soapbox speech you know what the fuck I mean. You don’t get to growl at other people because they’re touching me and then follow it up with NOT touching me. This whole ‘you have to smell like we’re fucking but we’re not actually gonna ever do that’ thing is so old, Derek. It’s so old. If you want me to smell like that, you’re gonna have to actually hold up your end.” Stiles levels Derek with a suggestive look. 

Derek blinks several times and swallows hard.

“Is that what you want, Derek?”

“…yes.”

“Then why aren’t we naked?”

Derek tsks. “Your schooling is important, Stiles. Not just to you but to me, too. I check on you all the time not just to 'stink you up' but to make sure you’re not fucking it up like I did. I just, I didn’t… I didn’t want _us_ to distract you.”

Stiles leans forward, “You think NOT being with the man I love isn’t distracting?” 

“Love.” Derek says the word and tries but fails to keep the hope out of his voice.

“Yes, fucknut. Love. Come on, you had to know this. We’ve been dancing to this song for 5 years, Derek.” 

Stiles scoots closer to Derek so they are only inches apart. He looks up into Derek’s eyes and says, “Get me that gold GNC membership, boo.” 

Behind them Isaac mouths, “What. The fuck.”

Derek huffs, “It was titanium. And we were having a moment.”

Stiles smiles, “We still are.” He leans forward and kisses him.

There’s a rush of wind, a thud, then another rush of wind. Stiles and Derek pull apart in time to see the charred body of Peter Hale unceremoniously thrown through the hole in the roof to land at their knees. Peter gasps and shudders and all four of them make horror faces at the fact that he’s still alive despite the state he’s in, while Alex floats through the hole to the floor.

“Mkay barbecued werewolf body is a total boner killer. *Now* the moment is dead,” Stiles gags while he and Derek stand.

In a swift movement, Alex takes Stiles hands in his own and does a thing to them in which they make a horrible cracking sound and causes Stiles to make an undignified crying sound, then quickly lets him go. 

“I’m not able to heal them fully because they were broken by a supernatural creature but they’re no longer broken to the severity of before, which would have left you …crippled. I think that should help.” 

Stiles lifts his hands. They’re no longer purple or twisted, although they’re still a bit swollen but he can wiggle his fingers with only a modicum of discomfort. He grins at Alex like a little kid, “thanks, man.”

Alex turns to Derek, who is still making horror face at Peter’s body. “I did not end him because I don’t think it’s my place to decide who deserves sanction within the Hale family line anymore: It’s yours.”

Derek and Alex share a long meaningful look. After a moment, Alex nods and says, “Do what you will with him but my unsolicited advice is to kill him. Thoroughly. Again.” 

“I second that motion,” Isaac says. After tying Peter up in the sheets he, Scott, and Derek carry Peter's body out to the front door. 

“Soooo,” Stiles says to Alex, “Is it weird that I keep thinking that I wanted to make out with you and you could have been my dad?”

Alex smiles, “Yes.”

“Kay, just making sure.”

There’s an awkward silence between them, which Stiles tries to break by asking, “Hey how come I’m not drunk on you anymore?”

“My blood. As Peter exemplified, another one of its properties is to bring forth your truest desire.” Alex looks at Derek as he reenters the room, then back at Stiles and smirks. 

Stiles blushes, “Ah. Heh. Well. I kinda miss that feeling.”

“I’m sure your friends do not.”

“Rrrrright. Fiery horny heat death. I forgot.”

“And they try to eat me, mustn’t forget that.”

“Yes. Mhm. Yep.”

Alex says “Mm.” and there’s another awkward silence.

“I’m sorry, Stiles.” 

Stiles raises his eyebrows in question. 

“For not being honest with you. It’s likely that much of this would have gone differently, if not favorably, if I had been.”

Stiles nods and shrugs. He’s not sure that’s true. All of this was wrought by Peter fucking Hale catching Alex at his most vulnerable, his one moment of weakness, and taking advantage of the situation. This happened because at his very core, Peter’s truest base desire was power. Peter Hale wanted to rule so badly that he didn’t realize the way he was going about it was going to end the world. Because when you, in effect, kill the being that powers the sun, you take everybody and everything else with it. 

But Stiles doesn’t say this because he knows Alex knows that bit. What Alex is apologizing for is something more private, and Stiles is not quite ready to deal with that yet. So he says, “Ah. Likely, yeah.” 

“What will you do now.”

Stiles tips his head to the side and smirks, “You *really* talk like that, don’t you...”

Alex chuckles. “What will you do … _now???_ ”

Stiles looks up at the 8-foot-wide hole in the ceiling of his bedroom, sighs and starts walking down the stairs to the front door, “Well. At some point in the very near future I see many, many contractors in my life. But first I think Imma have Deaton hook me up with them good drugs and some splints- ”

“Deaton. Alan Deaton.”

“….yeah. You know him?”

“Of course. Your mother and I used to double date with him and your uncle.” 

Stiles' face drops, “What?!” 

“Stories for another time. Right now, your medical treatment is more important.” Alex turns to Scott on the porch, “The other wolf is around the side of the house. He started to wake so I hit him.”

Scott is visibly surprised by Alex’s report. “Did-did you kill him?”

With a disturbingly blank look, Alex replies, “Do you want me to?”

“…uh.”

Alex grins, “Mm. Perhaps not this time but consider this me, offering you my services as …armament. Should you need them, Alpha McCall.”

Derek meets them at the door before Stiles can start in on Alex again. He rests a hand on Stiles’ cheek and gives him the sweetest little kiss. It is quite effective in shutting Stiles up. Scott and Isaac load up Derek’s car with Marcus’ unconscious body, right next to Peter's. They wave to the three of them on the porch and take off toward the clinic. 

Stiles somehow manages to curl an arm around Alex and his other around Derek. He rests his head on Derek’s shoulder and says, “Close your eyes, babe, so it won’t hurt.” Both men smile at the endearment. 

“Hold on to him,” Alex whispers in Derek’s ear, “I’ve got you both.” 

Derek wraps his arms tightly around Stiles, rests his head on Stiles’ cheek, and closes his eyes. Alex sweeps the three of them up into the air and glides off in the direction of the clinic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have [another story from this world brewing](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8623639), about Stiles, his mom, and his mom's side of the family. :-)


End file.
